Hate
by LeighJ11
Summary: She hates him. Hates that he left her, that he won't look at her, won't talk to her. Hates that he winds her up, that she loves him so much. Hates it when he makes her forget how much she hates him too. Hate fucking though, she loves that. Rated M for some violent thoughts, swearing, sex, rough sex. You was warned.
1. Chapter 1

**Umm, so this piece of writing did not exist until roughly two hours ago. I was watching Bethyl video's and I saw the argument they had, when Beth says to Daryl that he looks at her and all he sees is a dead girl. This happened. Sorry, not sorry. I promise I'm working on Adult, until then, you have this. Think of this as a companion piece to** Fuck you. **Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or its characters. Make no profit from this piece.

"You look at me, and all you see is a _dead girl_!"

"'Cause you fuckin' _died_!"

"I made it, Daryl and you don't get to treat me like this, not again, not when I had to crawl out of my own damn grave to come an' find you! Ain't we had this damn conversation before?"

She's trembling and it's not fear. It's anger. A terrible, hot, bursting anger that wants to tear her apart and take the world with it. Wants to tear Daryl apart and make him pay. It's awful and it's powerful and it's something she can't control, not anymore. A bullet tore through her head and now she's fucked up and she can't stop how mad she is, how quick her heart is racing.

Her pulse is a heavy thrum, resonating in her ears as Daryl takes a step forward, blue eyes squinted and angry through his dark, lank hair. "You think I's gonna welcome you with open arms, was gonna fall down on my goddamn knees and pour my damn heart out to you, girl?"

Beth's hand's clench as does her teeth, her body locking up tight, her skull pounding. "Funny, 'cause I kinda fuckin' did! I got Maggie tellin' me how you carried my dead body an' Rick sayin' how you're not yourself an' Carol sayin' that she's never seen you act like this, an' everyone sayin' how _ruined_ you are over me. So yeah, I thought you would be _happy_ that I fuckin' _made it_."

"Yeah, well that ain't me, girl. Guilt got me actin' like that, now ya back I ain't got shit to feel sorry 'bout."

"You're lyin'," she hisses, taking a step forward and now her heart is throwing itself against her chest. "You _missed me_."

"Fuck you," he hisses back and he's closer, crowding into her, towering over her.

The world floods red like her vision did when her brain blew apart. Ruby red fading into old blood red, then nothing but black. "I hate you, you fuckin' _prick_!" She screams, her throat raw and tight as she throws herself at him, swinging a loose punch that hits him square in the jaw.

The old Beth would have been horrified. _She_ should be horrified, but she's not because it's not nearly enough. She wants to _destroy_ him. To tear him apart limb from limb and stamp all fucking over him and crush him. She wants him to know agony and pain and terror like she did. Wants him to know how it feels to claw your way out of a blanket, then hard packed mud.

Six feet fucking under.

Wants him to know how it feels to be lost and confused and scared, with barely any memories that took days to develop back into a brain, each one hard and harsh and sickening. Wants him to fight walkers with no weapons and survive without food, without water, and try to find a family without any fucking _clue_ where to look, or without knowing who had died while she was dead herself. Wants him to know what it feels like to sob, shake, scream in fear and longing, let loneliness tear you apart and cold shear away your loose clothes, your thin skin, brittle bones, weak from exhaustion; hunger.

Wants him to know how it feels to go through all that, beat all that, to stumble upon the people you never ever thought you would see again after coming back from the dead, travelling further than you can ever calculate and be _rejected._ Not by anyone else, just him, like she did something, like he hated her. Didn't hug her, didn't look at her, moved out of Glenn and Maggie's. Didn't speak to her, didn't stick around the zone, took himself out for days, sometimes weeks at a time, nearly getting himself killed over and over again just because he couldn't face her.

Beth swings another punch and suddenly he's got her, hands clamped on her arms and holding her tight. She screams, trying to kick, claw, headbutt, bite. Anything she can do because she _hates_ him and she can't stop saying it. Can't stop screaming it as he holds her close, traps her, their bodies flush together and hers jerking, his frame locked and tight. "I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, hate you! You fuckin' prick, you coward, you fuckin' selfish fuckin' _liar_!"

"Beth, stop! Stop! Girl, fuckin' _stop_!" He shouts over her own ramblings, grunting as she manages to land her vicious blows.

She's breathless, everything heaving and thrumming, the world tilting alarmingly and her skin on fire. Distantly she's aware of how she's screaming, how much louder he's getting trying to speak over her and soon someone may hear and come to check on them, but she doesn't goddamn care because he needs to be _punished_. Through the fear and the cold and the agony, she held onto him like a ball of light; yet the minute she found him, he let her down.

"I hate you, I hate you! You let me go! You fuckin' let me go! You _let me down_."

Daryl sucks in a harsh breath, his hands so tight on her bare arms she hisses soon after. It hurts, a horrible pinch that throbs but he's not letting go and she's not trying to leave.

" _I_ let _you_ down?" He says it low and hard, ice-pick cold and it should scare her, but the rage is making everything hot, melting down that ice and it doesn't.

Beth pushes to her tip toes, crowding in, her lips nearly pressed to his. Her heart flutters, a little less anger, a little more of something else and her words are hot, hard against his mouth, "yeah, you goddamn did."

His chest heaves against hers, frame vibrating and she wonders what they must look like, crowded together. Dark and light, her blonde hairs tangling with his dark ones they're pressed so tight, foreheads nearly touching, palms screwed up at her sides and toe to toe. There's a tense, breathless silence and Beth expects the anger to swirl through it, drain out of them, but it doesn't. It's still thick and hot, burning her skin and her cheek bones what she can only presume is a fiery red, from what she sees of Daryl's own hot cheeks.

It's breathless, infinite, then it explodes.

They crash together, their mouths fused and her hands in his hair, pulling tight, his hands grabbing her by the ass and hoisting her into the air, stumbling under her weight until her back hits a cold wall, hard and fast and out of nowhere. She hisses, her cunt flooding with hot wetness and he growls back, mouth tearing away from hers. Top suddenly in his tight grip, he _rips_ it straight down the middle, the thin cotton of her bra getting caught in his thick fingers and tearing under the pressure until everything's open and her chest and belly are both exposed. She gasps, an angry shout on her tongue, her head ringing until he grabs her hips and dives down.

His mouth wraps around her nipple and _bites._ Beth cries out, head falling hard against the wall and her spine arching, fingers digging into his scalp and yanking. Daryl groans; straightens up again as she tries to strain her neck and reach his mouth, chest still heaving and the whole world in burning ruins. She feels desperate, hot, itchy, straining and fighting against the material on her body to get to him. Get his belt off and his shirt, get his hard cock inside her. They manage to fumble at his belt, to undo his jeans, pull his shirt over his head.

Beth's hands fall to his broad chest, a whimper in her throat as she hooks her nails and rakes them down to his stomach. He swears under his breath, abandoning his jeans and practically _flings_ her through the air, where she catches herself with a ringing smack on the hard edge of the dining room table, not far from where their argument started in the kitchen.

She cusses as darkly as he did when the edge digs into her ribs, her shoulders yanking back as he pulls the loose material of what was once her bra and top from her body. Her head swims as he comes up behind her, tugging on the waistband of her jeans. She lifts her hips, pushing her hands under her stomach to undo her button and fly, both of them managing to wriggle her jeans and panties down together, leaving them tangled at her knees.

"Fuck," Daryl grates out. "Look at that pussy."

A whine escapes her mouth as a tendril of shocking heat slips from the crown of her head, right down her spine; wrapping around her hips and stroking her clit, flooding her cunt with more juices until her inner thighs rub together with the slickness.

"Daryl, _please_."

She almost feels sick, how bad she wants it. How much she _needs_ it. He makes an animalistic sound, his rough hands taking both of her wrists and tugging them behind her back, clamping around them at the base of her spine. She moans, her shoulders yanked back and chest thrust forward, legs spread as far as she can manage with her jeans and panties at her knees.

"Jesus, girl, shut your fuckin' mouth 'fore we get caught," he grumbles, low and rough, sending goose bumps skittering over her skin.

She only realises she was whimpering like a kicked puppy when he says it and as she tries to stop he reaches down and yanks her jeans the rest of the way off, bringing her shoes and panties too. When he stands back behind her, he stretches over her body and squeezes her cheeks until her teeth cut into them and then rams fabric into her gaping mouth. Beth chokes around whatever the fabric is, eyes watering as Daryl takes her wrists back, straining her shoulders again. They thrum in dull agony and she moans around the fabric in her mouth, struggling to breathe at all through her nose when her cheek connects sharply with the cold wood.

He makes a sound something akin to desperation and it floods her hot and cold. He likes this. He likes having her bent under him, stripped naked, hands tied up and mouth stuffed shut with what she's pretty sure are her panties from what she can taste. He likes it so much she can feel the slippery pre-cum against her ass cheeks where his hard, hot cock rests. She moans deliriously, her eyes squeezing shut. Rocking back her hips makes him cuss and he presses his cock forward, head pressing against the tight ring of muscle between her ass cheeks and she shudders, rolling her hips, her pussy juices dripping down her thighs.

"Jesus, fuckin' _Christ, girl_. You like that?"

She makes a sound behind the gag, her hot cheek practically glued to the table with her sweat, her hips rolling over and over. He keeps a hold on her wrists and uses the other to grip her left ass cheek and pull it aside, getting a clear view of his cock pressing against her asshole. Beth chokes, heart beating like a wild bird as the weight of his gaze presses on her. Presses as hard as a finger, then there is real pressure because the head of his cock slips in. She freezes and he groans something delirious, his jagged nails puncturing the flesh of her ass cheek.

"Fuck, Beth. _Fuck_."

She whimpers back, trying to relax. She didn't expect this but it looks like it's going to happen and she's so fucking wet, so fucking hot and sweaty, ramped up, she doesn't goddamn care. She just wants him inside her, inside _any_ hole, wants to cum so bad she'll do anything. Daryl presses forward an inch and she sobs because it stings but her pussy also throbs, two holes at opposite ends of the spectrum, at war with each other. Pleasure and pain a tight, thin rope that she's walking and it's so fucking _good_ she can't cope.

"Please, please, please," she rasps but the fabric turns it into something gritty and Daryl makes a sound like he doesn't understand.

"You want it here, huh? Want it in your tight little ass? You know how many damn times I watched this ass? How many times I pictured stuffing it full with my cock?"

She can't cope.

She's going to combust as it is and if he keeps talking like that she hasn't got a fucking chance in hell because she's picturing it. All the times she's walked past him or stood up in front of him, bent over or wore shorts. Teasing him, without knowing it. Picturing him going to his cell and gripping his hard, weeping cock because of her. Making himself cum. Thick, white down his knuckles, his wrists, over his belly and thighs.

She whimpers again and he lets loose a strained laugh. "Next time, girl. Promise."

He pulls the head of his cock out and it stings as much as it did when he pushed in, a pinprick of pain compared to her pulsing clit, her hot cunt throbbing and rippling. He doesn't waste time after that. Gripping her wrists with renewed vigorous intent, he yanks her upper body so her breasts are thrust forward, nipples hard little peaks, shoulders pulled tight and aching and her cheek rips from the table. She cries out, wondering if she left three or four layers of skin on the surface, the heat in her left cheek even more intense than her right like she's been struck hard.

Daryl grabs her ass cheek again, spreading her so wide it almost hurts and then shoves his cock into her cunt with a roar, like a lion making a conquest. Beth screams against her panties, her mouth flooding with saliva and pussy aching as he pushes deeper and deeper, moving back so that her clit presses, hot and fat and exposed, against the edge of the table.

It's sharp and cold like a knife's blade and every single time Daryl thrusts into her, it's like she's being stabbed and it's excruciatingly perfect. Pleasure and pain in equal doses that make her see stars. It doesn't take her long to cum, not at all and it's a pressure in her belly she can't cope with. It makes tears flood down her cheeks, waves of heat roll down her spine, shrieking white noise scream in her ears and a real scream to get trapped up in her panties.

"Wha- _Jesus,_ Beth!"

Daryl pulls out, is almost _forced_ out as wet gushes between her legs like a waterfall, spilling onto the floor in a puddle. He grabs her again, using the head of his cock against her clit and it's too much, _it's too much_ because her clit has been abused and those stars are getting thicker and she's screaming, more wetness splashing onto the floor.

Daryl releases her, letting her flop against the table as he grunts and pants behind her like a large animal, excitement and adrenaline almost tangible as he keens like a dog through his teeth, splashing hot, thick cum across her ass. So much of it, so much she would be amazed if she held the compacity to make coherent thoughts, which she doesn't.

He half falls against her when he's done, hands braced against her spine and pressing her down into the table. When he speaks, it's low and satisfied, "girl, you're so fuckin' good."

Beth hums, eyes heavier than rocks, spitting out the pantie-gag so she can talk. "Don't hide from me no more, Daryl. I can't take it."

He bends over her back, his lips to her spine. "I'm sorry, girl."

"S'okay, you made it up to me." She smiles.

His hand reaches forward, taking hers and clasping their fingers. "Can do it in the shower too."

She laughs. "Lead the way."


	2. Chapter 2

**I had this little idea and contemplated uploading it as a single piece, except it fit quite nicely with** Hate **, so I'm uploading it here, instead. Warning that the start is a little angsty and violent/grim. Doesn't stay that way though, don't worry. Enjoy!**

It's the smell.

More than anything it's the smell.

The dark, she can deal with. She's been in dark spaces several times, she remembers outrunning shambling, dead monstrosities that wanted to take chunks out of her and using dark places to hide from them. She can't remember why, or how these things were made, but she remembers that they were bad, that she had to kill them, hide from them. She remembers hiding from them in the trunk of car, with a man. A man whose deep, blue eyes bored into her with the weight of what could be their last moments, she remembers that.

Her heaving chest, her shaking hand clenched around a knife. In that moment, she remembers that it was just them. That man. For some reason, she thinks: last man. Last man and… she must have been the last woman… or first man, first woman? She's not sure. Humankind cradled in their dirty hands, all its responsibility weighing down on their shoulders, she knows that, remembers the feeling in her gut. It was just them, she knows that too, against all those groaning things, clawing at the trunk of the car, trying to hurt them.

Just them, her… what is her name? No matter, it was just her and the man, against a raging storm and cold, bitter winds -she remembers how harsh they were on her skin- against certain death, just them, but that was okay. She wasn't alone, she wouldn't die alone, wouldn't go out without a fight, without the man fighting for her. He must have loved her and she must have loved him. She remembers being willing to die for him, knows he felt the same for her, remembers. It was just them, but she was protected.

Here, it's just her, alone.

She doesn't know her name, can't recall it, but she's sure there's a second part to her name… something akin to a colour. Black? No… Green? She thinks it's Green, with something stupid, like an 'e', although she can't be sure. Everything's muddled and foggy. Doesn't matter that she has a name, not anymore. It's just her, in here, last woman, first woman. Alone and cold, suffocating with limited air and it's the smell. Dank, heavy soil full of sunshine, so sweet and tangy it's like a sharp needle through her tongue. It's life, calling out to her, begging her to come back, to try again, giving her a second chance.

It's a beautiful smell -for what she can remember of smells- but it's also overlaid with pungent death. With decay and rot, like bad meat cooking in a hot sun, spoiled guts, putrid and evil. It's suffocating, overbearing. It's dark and cold and heavy, like a thick blanket. Except it's not just like a thick blanket, _it is_ a thick blanket, bundled all around her from her head to her toes, smothering her face. A blanket that pins her arms to her sides, that doesn't allow her to move. Fabric clings to her forehead, stiff and dried by something that was wet, something that was so thick it congealed.

She can't reach up to check, but she knows it's blood. Doesn't know how, doesn't know why, doesn't know how she ended up wherever she is, but it is blood, and that's bad. She fights. Where she was once lying still and disoriented, weighed down with no oxygen, she's suddenly all action. Fingernails clawing into the blanket, tearing through it so that soil falls through the hole, thick and fast. She gasps, looking at the pile as it scatters over her stomach and hips, pools between her denim clad thighs, clamped together in her grave.

 _Her grave._

That's right. That makes sense. This is her grave. She can't remember how she died. Can't remember who killed her, but she's slowly piecing it together. Bleeding in her head, can only be a gunshot wound. Last thing she remembers is being with that man from the trunk in a… in a funeral home? That's right, she thinks. She was playing something… a piano and… singing. She was singing. She likes to sing.

 _I sing. I still sing._

So how was she shot? It's something she has to think about later. She can't stop now. If the soil piles in, if she's too deep underground, she's going to die again and she doesn't want that. She really doesn't want that. There's people, she's sure of it. People who miss her, who want to see her, who will be happy to see her alive, if she knows where to look, if she can find them. She claws, tears, pushes, digs through the dirt with her fingernails until it gets packed under them, until the thick, heavy earth tangles in her blonde hair, pools into her mouth, down her throat, up her nose, into her clothes.

Until she punches through a thick crust, hand stretching as she chokes on soil, tipping her mouth to the fresh breeze. More digging, scrambling, clawing, breaking her nails until they bleed and the skin of her fingers crack, the flesh stained red by rivulets of ruby blood, shining in the bright new world she's punched her way into, like she crawled up from the pits of hell itself. She gasps desperately as she pulls herself out of the grave, sprawling into high grass and panting. It's like she's looking down at herself, like she's an observer, because she can see everything.

Grey cardigan, yellow, strained polo, ripped jeans, boots covered in mud. Blonde hair loose, matted with soil and blood, pieces of flesh. Crusty hole in her brow, cut over her cheek that she can't remember getting, stitches she also doesn't remember getting, half torn out. The earth is heavy in her nose where it's pressed to the ground and she can't stand to smell it any more, not after living under it and she turns onto her back, chest heaving.

The man stands there.

Her breath freezes, eyes blowing wide as she looks at him. He's crying, ragged strands of hair hanging about his face, chin wobbling with sobs. It's like all she has to do is look at him, meet those blue eyes and she remembers. Her brain fills with information so fast she rolls onto her hands and knees and throws up, lumps of soil and worms, grass and maggots falling out of her mouth. Beth Greene. Her name is Beth Greene. She retches, spewing up more horrible things when there's a sudden yank at her scalp. She screams, the pain lancing over her whole skull, the grip dragging her upwards as her feet scramble against the grass.

There's a sharp tug in her forehead, like someone driving a knife through it in the neat hole and she lets loose a ghastly sound, hot thick blood gushing out of the newly torn hole and spilling down her forehead, running into her eye. Beth squints against the hot blood as she's turned sharply, staring into Daryl's eyes. He presses the muzzle of a gun against her lips and she chokes around it, allowing him to push until the gun hits the back of her throat.

Tears flood down her cheeks as Daryl continues to cry. He struggles to speak for a while, until finally he does get words out. "Can't come back from this, bitch. _Stay down."_

The gun goes off and the bullet tears through her mouth, blowing the back of her skull apart.

* * *

Bloodcurdling screams tear from her lips as she sits upright, hands punching down at her sides. She hears a grunt, feels the give of soft flesh under her clenched fist and the confusion cuts her scream off, pants taking residence instead as she sharply looks over her shoulder. Daryl's there, blinking awake, naked. She's naked too, she can feel the sweat over her bare skin, her loose curls falling to her lower back after so long not cutting it. Almost half consciously, Beth reaches a hand up to stroke her fingers through the soft strands, to feel the glide as no knots resist her knuckles. Fresh, clean, no blood.

She's fuzzy and she doesn't like it, feels a lot like the grave and it takes Daryl sitting up in bed, his warm lips against her bare shoulder for the world to slide into place. She did dig out of her own grave, that was real. It was all real until the Daryl part. He was never there. After she had stumbled to her feet, she had found a wilted flower in the upturned Earth. Had stared at it for a long time, for hours, truthfully.

Then, started walking.

Beth glances over her shoulder at Daryl's concerned eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. "I'm okay, just a nightmare."

"The grave?" He whispers.

She nods, pushing him on his back that so she can climb atop him, her legs spreading over his hips. He breathes deeply, pillowing a hand beneath his head and using his other one to stroke up her soft thigh. "You wanna talk 'bout it?"

Beth shakes her head. She doesn't. She wants some comfort, something grounding and stable. The beat of Daryl's heart is a good place to start and she smooths her own hand over his chest, letting his heartbeat thump against the palm of her hand. It's not quite enough though and she fidgets, a whimper trapped behind her teeth of frustration. Daryl can sense it, he always can and he shushes her under his breath, hand flowing from her thigh to her hip bone, fingers curling around it and holding on. She lets her eyes fall closed, his thumb stroke her hip before he reaches up to play with the ends of her hair. She smiles softly. That's nice, good, it'll work.

She's never had long hair before, except maybe when she was too young to remember it, or so Maggie says. When she found Alexandria, Maggie cut her hair because the clumps of blood and dirt and everything else was too much to get out and she was worried about Beth's fragile skull. It was cut really short, all the way to her chin to save it. She had hated it. Looked nothing like herself and with her gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes, she didn't feel like herself either. Felt exactly like a demon that crawled up from hell and was masquerading as Beth Greene.

Couldn't stand to look in the mirror until months later, not long after Daryl took her over the dining room table. Now, she's different again, but it's better. She's not that hollowed out demon but she's also not Beth from the farm, Beth from the prison or Beth on the run with Daryl. She's a new creature, a fragile one but -and she can admit this because who the fuck cares about narcissism anymore?- she's also quite pretty, prettier than she can ever remember being. Beth's not afraid to say it. She deserves to say it. If she can find comfort in her own looks after being shot through the head then dammit, she will.

She still has her scars of course and newer, more innocent ones too but she's filled out again, put healthy weight on. Her hairs longer, thicker, even lighter from the harsh sun that's been unhelpful to crops but good to her strands. She feels pretty, feels like a young woman and she feels prettier every time Daryl looks at her, touches her hair. It feels like a powerful thing, like when he touches the scar on her wrist, the cut on her cheek, the one in her brow. It feels like it's an acknowledgement of what she's been through, what she survived, what made her stronger, prettier.

It doesn't hurt that it makes her feel quite sexy too. Quite daring, in ways she's not had the chance to be between being seventeen and then being on the run, dirty and grubby. Now, she can shave, can be smooth, can make her body smell nice, can make her hair thick and scented, can lie naked in bed with the man she fucks every night. Can walk around in tiny shorts to turn him on, has enough weight on her chest to fill his hands. Beth sighs, rolling her hips softly against Daryl's naked cock. He hums softly, clearly having been drifting back to sleep as he sifted his fingers through her hair.

She opens her eyes, not realising she had shut them to find that his are closed, face relaxed, almost asleep again. She should leave him, really. He doesn't get enough sleep as it is, with everything he does and her insatiable need to touch him. She's not in the business of denying herself small pleasures though and so Beth reaches down, wrapping her hand around his soft cock. He moans, low in his throat, the sound more relaxed than he usually is. His eyes still haven't opened so she strokes him gently, her thumb sweeping over the head, trying to coax some pre-cum.

Daryl's still quite sleepy but his eyes do open now and his fingers curl around each of her thighs, making small grunting noises as she continues to work him into full hardness. By the time she's made it there, he's a lot more awake, hair mussed. It's a sexy look for him, one she doesn't get to see all too often and she relishes in it, a flush working down her chest and tightening her nipples. They smile softly at each other, in sync enough to know how this is going to go. Daryl sits up, hanging onto her as he leans his back against the wall and she pushes herself up him, taking a hold of his now weeping cock and lifting her hips.

She's slow as she sinks down on him and they seal their mouths, swallowing each others groans. It's all slow, all sweet as she slowly glides her wet pussy up and down his dick, finger nails carefully sunk into his shoulders. He's gentle as he cups her ass, spreading his fingers to dip one against the tight ring of muscles there. Beth moans softly, pressing her exposed clit against his pubic bone with a soft shake of her head. Not tonight. The first time they fucked he said 'next time' and it didn't happen next time -it's not happened at all- but tonight isn't the night and he respects that, pulling away.

He still cups her ass cheeks so she's spread wide enough to enjoy the deep plunges of his cock though and it doesn't take her long with her rocking her hips for her to cum, soft and gentle as a breeze, squeezing and rippling over him until he tightens his hands a little on her, a sure sign he's close to cumming too. She gently pulls off of him, bending between his spread legs to finish him with her mouth, his cum spurting against the back of her throat as he strains, clenching the pillow above his head and pressing his hips hard onto her tongue. Beth swallows it all, tasting her own pussy too and swiping her tongue along her teeth.

Her body is loose as flowing water and Daryl's just as pliant. It's easy for them to sink into each other, her fingers curling around his neck and his hand pulling her leg up to rest on his hip. They're sticky with sweat and between her legs is a mess but she's riding a pleasant buzz and she's asleep before she can think to do anything about it.


End file.
